


Addiction

by justsimplymeagain



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cutting, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Canon Compliant, tally marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-04 03:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17296574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsimplymeagain/pseuds/justsimplymeagain
Summary: Barbara once said: “The Jim Gordon you know is an act. He's like an addict who thinks he can dabble in darkness as long as nobody sees the needle marks.”Maybe she wasn't wrong. And maybe his own addiction was getting worse. Who would have thought that it would have involved Victor Zsasz?





	1. A Taste

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter was originally a drabble and included in my little series of drabbles "Tales from Gotham", but I opted to add to it because pre-relationship wasn't quite enough as I've been told.

Alcohol.

A great starter of many things.

Things that can be good, things that can be disastrous. And for Jim, this night it was the latter. The day wasn’t any worse than normal or any better than it can be. It was just a day – a normal one. Which led Jim into the false comfort of it being safe to get drunk.

So going out to get drunk was exactly what Jim did. Sometimes he gets lucky, he finds someone willing to sleep with him, they head back to Jim’s place and they have a good time. The person leaves the next morning and that was that. It was mostly woman that he brought home, but there was the odd man.

Tonight – Jim expected pretty close to the same. Go out. Get drunk. Get hooked up. Get laid. Wake up the next day and carry on with life.

If only it followed that same routine.

Tonight, however, it didn’t. A bar fight broke out. An old criminal that Jim had arrested once – one of Sal Maroni’s loyalists was present. He recognized Jim, of course. Hence why the fight broke out, old grudges. Jim who was drunk so his lack of control – especially over himself – was nonexistent. So Jim let himself go in the fight, giving as hard as his attacker – soon to become attackers – were giving.

The situation escalated and changed tones the second a gunshot went off.

One man staggered and another went to help him – shocked. It took seconds from there to realize that the gun was held by Jim. He looked down and confirmed for himself that he just shot a man in the upper stomach. It took a minute for the man to collapse and die and things to get even worse from there.

Anger drove the people with the now down man forward and at Jim.

As the fight carried on, there were seven more shots. Four from Jim.

It won’t be until the fight turned gunfight spills outside. They were in the alleyway behind the pub, gunshots coming his way and returned with just as much intention from Jim. In the distance, there was the sound of sirens. Three people fled, two were unable to move. Shot and immobilized. But alive.

At least until two gunshots rang out. From behind him.

Jim spun, gun on ready – but discovered belatedly, empty. What shocked him, however, was that it was Victor Zsasz standing there. Two guns out and a maniac grin on his face. It wasn’t until it was clear that no one would be firing another shot did Victor send two of his girls into the pub for reasons unknown to Jim.

When Victor turned his attention onto Jim he almost swore he saw -

\- pride.

Pride that was directed at him.

Unfortunately, Jim couldn’t confirm nor deny what he saw as everything started to go dark on him. Distantly hearing, “Hmm?”

By the time he wakes up, it would be noon the next day. Head pounding and mouth dry and sour. He was on a couch – but it wasn’t his couch. A bucket close by with the clear signs of it being well used, enough to have Jim’s stomach turn violently and if it wasn’t for the fact that his stomach was already empty, he would be using it once more.

Sitting up was a struggle.

“And that is why I don’t drink.” A voice – Victor Zsasz’s voice to be exact – spoke. Jim turned towards the sound. He never saw the man in something that can be considered casual. And yet, there he stood dressed in the most god-awful lime green Hawaiian shirt Jim has ever seen in his life.

“Do you like it, my Bubbie got it for me.” Victor said, indicating the shirt he was wearing with black slacks. Jim didn’t know how to answer that as it seemed to make his head pound even worse.

“Sure. Not something I expect to be seeing in Gotham though.” Not something he expected someone like Victor Zsasz to actually wear as well. But with the man wearing short sleeves made it easy for him to notice one horrific thing. Tally marks covering the man’s one arm and only partially covering his other. Jim almost felt sick knowing that each mark was a life taken. Almost. A part of him wanted to follow those marks and see just how much Victor had on his body.

“This one was someone standing on a bridge, ready to jump but too afraid to do so. I helped.” Victor explained pointing to one of the more recent ones. Still deep red. Victor pointed to another, “This one belonged to a man who tried to shoot at Don Falcone. I was given the order to dispatch him. I did.” That one looked pale pink.

Victor drew closer, looking almost predatory and intrigued – no doubt because he knew he had Jim’s complete attention.

“This one was from last night, the one closes to the pub’s back-alley exit. This one from his buddy behind the garbage container.” Victor showed, two fresh ones that barely even scabbed over on his less covered arm. Before Jim could say anything a glass of water was forced into his hands and two Tylenol dropped into his free hand. Jim took it and noted the rather pleased expression on Victor’s face.

The man was practically beside himself with joy or even excitement.

“Thanks…” For the Tylenol and water or for being there last night. Jim didn’t know which, but he did know enough that if it wasn’t for Victor, he probably would have been in worse trouble. He shot and killed a man or more. He didn’t know.

“You’re welcome.” Victor responded before taking the half-full glass of water.

Things started to get blurry, perhaps he shouldn’t have taken those pills. He could hear Victor saying distantly, “A mild cocktail of my making, placed in your water. Enough to make things easier on you.”

What?

“Tonia made sure there were no witnesses at the Pub. You’re welcome for that.” Victor said Jim had to force himself to focus on that as his body started to get heavy. Only distantly did he realize that he now had Victor Zsasz sitting in his lap undoing his shirt. What was he doing?! Jim did try to stop Victor from taking one of his arms out of his sleeve, what surprised him was that Victor stopped there.

“I don’t rape, I only kill with great intent. Or torture. Or recondition people when they need fixing.” Victor reassured and Jim didn’t know what to think of that as his bare arm was raised and held against the back of the couch. They were chest to chest as Victor snaked an arm around and held Jim’s bare arm in place. Idly Jim noted that can feel some of Victor’s tally marks.

There was the sound of a box cutter being taken and the blade being pushed out. Jim’s heart sped up.

There that proud smile was back, enough to almost make Jim ache in other ways. Almost enough to make Jim happy to deserve that smile.

“I don’t know how many people you killed while in Gotham, Jim. But I know of the three you killed last night.” Victor’s voice had a sort of pride to it. Voice almost floating as it added, “I never considered doing this for anyone else – please remember that.”

This was something Victor considered special.

A horrible – twisted voice made Jim wish that he was more clearheaded if only to fully grasp the full impact of what was going on. To experience this moment fully.

But come tomorrow, he can blame the cocktail that was put in his water for the fact that he sat there as a puppet underneath Victor as the man almost lovingly carved three steady lines into Jim’s arm. In a place that can be tucked out of sight. But where Jim will forever notice.

“There. All done.” A statement, soft by Victor’s standards as a gentle – too gentle perhaps – kiss was placed on his forehead. His arm felt wet from the blood and his head was swimming with both a hangover and the cocktail of whatever was given to him. The partial intimacy of the situation only adds to it.

And in the end, it was all too much.

Jim ended up blacking out with a confirmation that he did good. Unbeknownst to him, his face was buried in the crook of Victor’s neck and the back of his head lovingly stroked.

It would be hours before Jim wakes up – this time in his apartment and tucked in his bed with a new bottle of Tylenol and a bottle of water next to it. A note from Victor that read:

_“Dear Jim, when you’re feeling up to it. Give me a call and we can always finish your marks then.”_

Jim frowned and managed to stagger his way to the bathroom, ignoring both the bottled water and the Tylenol. He stripped his shirt off trying to ignore the imagery of Victor undoing his shirt and ignore the hot curl that twisted in him because of it. There was an area that was bandaged and for a moment Jim was afraid to remove it, to see proof that he took lives last night.

Again.

It took a few minutes and a few gulps of water straight from the tap before he forced himself to remove the bandage. He saw three red angry cuts. Three tally marks for three lives.

For an hour he stood there staring at those marks. An hour standing there remembering the weight of the man on his lap. The sure fingers around his wrist and the risen scars of the tally marks on Victor’s wrist.

It would be later that he discovered that a number was programmed into his phone under Z and realize that he was seconds away from calling the man.

Could Jim be considered sick or wrong if he truly was tempted to call the man back and to add a few more tally marks?

One for Theo Galavan, One for Odgen Barker. One for Mario Calvi. Circumstances behind each death are different. One out of cold blood. One because of returning fire after collecting a debt. One for saving a life. But all dead because of him.

He didn’t know.

Either way, he didn’t delete that number from his phone as he re-bandaged his arm and got ready for the day.


	2. Temptation

_“The Jim Gordon you know is an act. He's like an addict who thinks he can dabble in darkness as long as nobody sees the needle marks.”_

Barbara had once spoken those words. Looking back in some ways, Jim knows she's not wrong. Jim knows that he teeters often. Jim wished he could say that it was worse after the Tetch virus incidents or even because of those instances. But it wasn't, it was always there.

After all, he's killed in cold blood even without it.

So what did that make him?

A fake? He didn't know, Jim tries to be good. Tries to do the right thing. But in Gotham, it seems to be an incredibly hard thing to do when everyone seems to be willing to go against the oaths they swore or quick to abandon their good intentions.

Closing his eyes he thought back on this latest case, the urge to just beat the man until he gave an answer that would be useful was incredibly high. And only a week ago he and Harvey hung someone over the edge of a building. Harvey was the first to pull him up, Jim surprisingly wasn't. It was during this case that he crossed paths with Victor. Short and sweet if you ignored the bullets whizzing at each other. Ending with Victor getting close to him the second he was separated from Harvey.

Jim remembered being crowded against a wall, Victor looking like a true and proper predator with a wide grin and eyes bright with clear intent. Nothing happened beyond a firm pressure against his tally marks and the whispered question next to his ear as Victor leaned in close, “You're taking care of our marks, right Jim?”

Jim wasn't able to answer, couldn't even stop the gasp that slipped out. His reaction seemed to excite the killer who kept Jim pinned with his presence alone. The moment not going any further thanks to Harvey finding them, Victor pulled away without giving any indication of what happened and Jim found he had to steal a moment to collect himself.

Jim eyed the tally marks. Tally marks he had even added to with a pen once, after a few drinks. The pen marks had long since faded, but the memory still lingering. On the rare night, as messed up as it was, it was enough to send Jim's hand down into his own boxers. He hated himself afterwards but it never seemed to stop him from lingering on memories.

More importantly in regards to his tally marks, no one has seen them. Jim didn't know how to react or how to explain these marks away in a way that would be believed. And the worst part, Jim found himself being selfish over them. He didn't want anyone to see them and not for the fact to avoid having to explain how he got them. But because they were his, they have been given to him.

_“I never considered doing this for anyone else – please remember that.”_

Victor Zsasz's words still echoed in his mind even months after their first run in. Their rather one-sided run in. Where Jim was drugged, hungover and a bit sore from the Pub's brawl he was in before it turned into a gunfight. In his drawer next to his bed was three items. A bottle of water, the bottle of Tylenol and the note.

Why Jim hung onto all three items as well as failed to delete Victor's number from his phone he didn't want to examine any further. Or examine how someone like Victor Zsasz found a way under Jim's skin in a way that he never expected nor anticipated.

Or welcomed!

And yet, here he was months after sitting in his rather lonely apartment eyeing the tally marks and side-eyeing his cell phone. It took a total of five minutes before he decided to put his phone away and go for a shower. He had an early day tomorrow, dealing with the latest case and listening to Harvey complain about Oswald Cobblepot. Again.

With the Pax Penguina system sort of back in place. Things have been hectic. Especially with the fact that Jim was doing everything he could to keep the GCPD out of Oswald's grasp, with varying successes. The method as wrong as it was, did seem work. But Jim couldn't let Oswald have too much power, there had to be a balance of some sort.

A balance they still had to figure out.

And now on top of all of that, there was someone was forging those damn licenses.

Jim had an idea of where the source was coming from, but in order to get full co-operation, he would have to go speak with Oswald. Which meant he would have to come face to face with Victor. The thought of the meeting had Jim feeling like he was nothing but nerves. It was worse with the fact that he didn't know what to expect from either man.

With nothing more to do, Jim crawled into bed and hoped that he would get some sleep tonight.

A sound in Jim's kitchen the following morning was enough to cause Jim to wake up, eyeing the clock he shot out of bed. It was seven! The fact that he slept in was not good, he wasn't too drunk last night. Although sleep was always questionable in regards to how much he gets some days. Especially when Jim finds himself in need – a need he wasn't entirely sure of. Or if he was, he may not want to admit to it.

Jim forced himself to focus on the sound of someone fiddling around in his kitchen. Grabbing his gun he made sure it was loaded and the safety ready to be turned off. Now armed he moved towards the sound, making sure to be as quiet as he could. Old bullet holes still scared the walls of his apartment and depending on what or who's in the kitchen there might be a few more.

To his surprise, it was none other than -

“Victor?!”

Without missing a beat the man poured a cup of coffee and bid him good morning. It was a rather otherworldly experience to be handed a cup of coffee in his apartment by one of the most feared assassins in Gotham. An assassin that just won't leave Jim's mind be.

“You're up late. The boss is hoping for a meeting before nine. It's seven now.” Victor explained and Jim tried to focus on that as he drank his coffee, normally he doesn't like it black but he wasn't going to worry about that too much.

“And he sent you -” Jim started, frustrated at the fact that Victor would be sent and frustrated that Harvey would let this happen.

“I offered.” Victor corrected, smiling widely as he took a few steps forward and successfully invading Jim's personal space. So close that Jim could nearly feel the body heat of the other man. Jim forced himself to maintain eye contact and try his hardest to ignore the sheer delight Victor seemed to be experiencing. The grin shrunk a bit, but no less potent.

“You might want to go have your shower.” Victor stated, taking the nearly full cup of coffee out of Jim's hand. A makeshift shield up to this point. Neither moved for a moment before Victor pushed forward and forcing Jim back, “We don't have much time. Playtime will have to wait.” This got Jim moving, he hated how his mind went through possibilities as he almost fled to the bathroom. Happy for once that he had a change of clothing already set out. It was halfway through the shower did he realize that he just drank something Victor handed him – again. It was a stupid mistake, but this time it seemed there was nothing but coffee in that cup. Outside of his bathroom, he could hear Victor moving around. His heart nearly stopping when he heard a drawer open.

“Sentiment Jim!” Was all he heard, confirming the fact that Victor was being nosy.

“Stay out of my stuff!” Jim snapped back as he rushed through the rest of his shower as quickly as possible.

Coming out of the bathroom so quickly he almost walked right into Victor, who seemed more amused than anything. Jim frowned and gave himself some space.

“Does Harvey know?” Jim asked Jim would react depending on Victor's answer.

A grin, nearly feral in nature with a promise of something. Violence? Sex? At the moment, that look in Victor's eyes spelled out both possibilities.

“No.”

It was all the invitation Jim needed as a fight broke out. New bullet holes would decorate his apartment as they struggled over a gun, kneed and punched at each other. It won't be until the coffee pot was used to strike Jim over the head. A tsking sound was heard in regards to the mess as he was forced bent over his table with one arm twisted around his back and Victor's gun pressed into the back of his head. Despite the pain that radiated from the coffee pot being shattered over his head and the hot coffee soaking his head and shoulders – Jim couldn't help but focus on the body pressed against him. The firm grip on his arm, the lack of space between their bodies.

“Jim. I thought I told you we don't have time for playing.” Victor's spoke in a near sing-song manner. Jim let out an angry sound, but he didn't know if the anger was at Victor or at himself. Not when he feels so incredibly divided on this whole situation currently.

“Have to change my shirt and rinse my the coffee and glass out of my hair.” Jim forced out through clenched teeth, trying his hardest not to squirm or give Victor a reason to pistol whip him or anything in that sort of manner.

“Tick tock Jim, we don't have all morning.” Victor agreed while letting Jim up. Jim glowered at the slightly taller man before making his way in the bathroom. It was here he realized he didn't have his phone. Goddamn it! He worked as quickly as possible and ignored Victor as best that he could when he came out of the bathroom shirtless while making his way to his bedroom to throw on a clean shirt. He still had the clear signs of being in a fight, but at least he was semi-presentable.

But besides that, if this was any indication. Jim was in for a long day.

It became quickly apparent that he was riding with Victor. Fuck! Pointedly ignoring the man Jim climbed into the passenger seat of a rather lovely black Chevrolet Camaro ss. He didn't know the year and didn't bother asking as it was fired to life and they were on their way. Jim still didn't have his phone or gun now. Both were tucked into Victor's jacket.

No words were spoken as they headed towards Oswald Cobblepot's residence.

The walk in and the entire conversation with the shorter man felt like Jim was standing on a ticking time bomb that was ready to go off. Only Jim didn't know what that bomb was. Himself. Oswald in front of him. Or whatever this thing with Victor is. But one thing was for sure, by the end of the day he would figure the last part out.

Especially given that Oswald gave the order that Victor Zsasz would be working with them on this. This meant that the tantalizing taste's he had from brief crossings of their path or this morning in his apartment would only be simmering even more with the close proximity this collaboration promised.


	3. Giving In

When Jim decided that he wanted to be a detective he never anticipated going through half of what he did. And looking back, he knew there was no course you could take that could prepare you for the special brand of insanity and the morally ambiguous nature of Gotham City. And yet, here he stood amidst a crime scene that was now overrun by a mixture of detectives, cops controlling the scene, and representatives from the criminal underworld – more specifically, Victor Zsasz.

When the case started, it looked like an open and shut case. However, given the fact that they lived in Gotham. It quickly became apparent that it wasn't going to be as simple as Jim had originally hoped it would be. What looked like a situation with someone simply forging the licenses that enabled crime to be legal, turned out to be a whole rotten section working and festering right underneath Oswald Cobblepot's nose. And now the criminal underworld would be active as ever in order for Oswald to eliminate the loose ends.

On one hand, that would be a good thing because then Jim can function without Oswald pushing back against the GCPD or trying to buy his precinct's loyalty. On the other hand, it would make his job keeping track of what's going on in the criminal underworld just a bit harder.

A smaller voice in the back of his mind reminded him of another completely selfish reason why this wasn't a good thing. And Jim was looking at him. Jim still remembered how easy it was to work alongside the bald-headed man, how they seemed to have fallen into an easy routine while investigating this case. Even when the situation devolved into a gunfight, it should have been concerning with how easy it was to work with Victor. Even so, that ease did nothing to take away the near frightening edge this man seemed to carry with him. Never seemingly settling on one mood, going from threatening silence to cracking jokes.

Since then, a week has passed, final reports have been written and dealt with. Life carried on. The criminal world as Jim figured, was busier than normal and that left the fallout for GCPD to contain as best to their abilities. Something they were near stellar in doing, or at least Jim thought so. Harvey not so much at times. The nights when Jim wasn't on duty, were filled with dreams. Dreams filled with passion and at times blood as tally marks were finished.

Dreams that always left Jim wanting more the next morning. So much so that the week that has passed felt longer because of one thing.

No Victor to be seen.

And Jim wished he hated how he seemed to be reacting to the man's disappearance. A part of him wanted to drive to Oswald's dwelling or even his office to see if he knows where the man was. And texts that Jim sent in a drunken stupor has gone unanswered. If Harvey saw how he was behaving, he would no doubt lose all faith in Jim and would sooner lock him in Arkham than trust him ever again.

It was why Jim kept this secret.

Just like he did with his tally marks.

Because nobody needs to know about the low levels that Jim had allowed himself to sink to.

Laying in bed half asleep was when Jim's phone came to life with an unfamiliar ringtone. It was enough to pull at Jim enough to have him turning over and checking to see who was calling. Or in this case – texting. It was Victor. The message was simple:

'Come outside. I know you're up.'

Harvey would really be questioning Jim's self-preservation at this point when Jim did exactly that. Got dressed and exited his apartment. Perhaps the smartest thing he did was bring a fully loaded gun with him. This was Victor Zsasz after all, and Jim wasn't that far gone. Victor made a cooing sound when he saw the gun, taunting Jim with mock hurt at not being trusted. Once he was reassured enough that Victor wasn't here to kill him, Jim put his gun away. It was now that Victor chose to approach Jim, getting right into his face all the while grinning.

“Miss me?” Victor teased lightly. With those words Jim felt a light touch to where his tally marks were, so light he would have almost missed it if he wasn't completely aware of everything to do with the man who has invaded Jim's mind like no one had the right to. Before Jim could respond Victor's hand slipped down from his tally marks to Jim's hand and tugged lightly as Victor took a step back and then another and soon Jim found himself being led to the same Chevrolet Camaro ss.

The man only pulling Jim in close once more only to whisper a firm order to get into the car. Jim moved to do just that if only to hide the shiver that shot through his body. His mind going to rather dirty places. Seconds later Victor climbed into the driver seat and they were on their way.

No Jim was certain now that if Harvey had seen how he was behaving tonight he would be locked up in Arkham for sure. And really, Jim couldn't blame him. He knows what this looks like. But Jim couldn't bring himself to stop any of it. He was too caught up with the moment and the promise lingering in the air tonight.

With his heart pounding, Jim only half focused on the direction they were going given the fact that he was too caught up in the driver. But eventually, they wound up on the rich end of Gotham. Victor explaining that he had a place here. Jim felt underdressed as he followed Victor into an elevator. From this moment on, personal space was at a minimum. First Victor crowding Jim against the wall followed by Jim holding the slightly taller man against him with a firm grip around the assassin's waist and one hand holding the back of Victor's head. Keeping him in place. Not that the killer seemed interested in pulling away as they set out to explore each other as best that they could.

This kept up until the elevator doors opened, Jim now fully invested in seeing just how far they go tonight. But then, Jim should have known that he would be from the moment his lips met Victor's a week before. Of course, this moment only interrupted by men working for the forger of Oswald's crime licenses.

_Jim wasn't entirely sure how he wound up in this position, but he did know it started with a disagreement with how they were going to handle the man doing the forging. Jim said to bring him to the GCPD, Victor wanted to take him to Oswald. But what Jim did know, was that it ended as a literal physical fight that ended with Victor on his back and Jim literally sitting on top of him._

_Victor, despite being on his back, was grinning as though he won. It was hard to see how with the fact that the man was pinned underneath Jim. But there he was, grinning up at Jim. It only proved to him just how insufferable Victor Zsasz could be, professional or not. Normally, Jim would let someone up at this point. But there was just something about having a rather dangerous man pinned that had him holding off. If only for a moment longer._

_This seemed to have been picked up by Victor who seemed to relax underneath him all the while raising an eyebrow daring him to do something more. When it became clear that Jim wasn't going to act on whatever he was dared to act on, Victor decided that he will. Using Jim's tie as a leash, Victor managed to grab hold and pull Jim down to his level. Bracing and preparing to fight if need be – Jim found he was instead kissed._

_Unfortunately, Jim couldn't find out just how far that might have led as shots were fired in their direction._

The sound of a door being closed and being pushed up against it pulled Jim out of his memory and into the present. He didn't even have a moment to take in surroundings as he found himself with an armful of Victor while having his mouth explored persistently. Surroundings could come after, right now he had another need to take care of. One that had him feeling incredibly hot, too hot for clothing. And a darker one, one that left his tally marks throbbing with the promise of being added to.

Jim's needs so persistent in mind and body that all he could force out was, “Please...” And even that came out barely above a whimper as he clutched tighter to the killer who grinned against his mouth as a response. A grin that wasn't kind or friendly, but one that held so many dark promises that had Jim feeling weak in the knees.

From here they moved through the sparsely filled apartment, hands and mouths exploring whenever they had the chance and whenever an article of clothing removed. All the way to the bedroom where the bed was on a raised part of the floor. The bed itself seemed to have the very city as a backdrop thanks to the large window that took up half of the back wall. The thought of having sex before the very eyes of Gotham shouldn't have sent such a thrill through Jim, but it did. And feeling lips against his throat followed by the tease of teeth, only seemed to leave Jim wanting. It would be later that Jim would realize that this wasn't as simple as having sex before the eyes of Gotham or even scratching an itch, this was a claiming and a marking.

When he was finally free of all clothing he found himself pushed down onto the bed only to be followed by an equally bared Victor who set out to reclaim his lips. Hands holding Jim's head still as his mouth was fully explored. The killer – his killer at the moment making his way between Jim's legs and laying there leaving no question that they both were in the same state. It was enough to cause Jim to gasp and nearly plead once more. His own hands exploring the man's smooth sides and back, finding only the odd scar wound of a gunshot or a stab wound. It won't be until morning that he gets the chance to find Victor's tally marks, covering all of one arm and most of the other. It won't take much imagination to imagine those marks slowly and steadily covering Victor's body as time goes one.

Jim wrapped his legs around Victor's waist, it was clear just how far they would go tonight and it fit given their own hunger just won't get out of the way to fully prepare one of them. But pleasure could still be found tonight. A hand burying itself in his hair pulled lightly, forcing him to bare his throat as Victor proceeded to mark him in another way. One of his hands taken by Victor and positioned above his head, allowing his own tally marks to be seen clearly. The thought and the promise of that action alone had Jim arching into Victor who grinned against his neck.

“Be a good boy and stay still for me.” Victor whispered into his ear, only asking after, “Will you?”

Jim didn't trust his own words, so he could only nod. Later he would hate himself at how eager he himself nodded. How he seemed to melt further at being told 'good boy' a second time. Jim watched as Victor reached under the pillow and pulled out a box cutter. With Victor now sitting between his legs, Jim did nothing as he watched as the blade was pushed forward and revealed.

Eye contact was made, a last-minute exit granted if it was wanted. It wasn't. Staying as relaxed as possible, and no less aroused Jim stared back. Rewarded with a grin and what could have been a whispered 'good boy' he was told to tell Victor the names of the people that would be added tonight. Jim has killed more than a few people, but only three names stood out. Only three fit for tonight.

“Theo Galavan.” Was the first name given. Jim was rewarded with a kiss followed by the sharp pain of a cut. The second name, Odgen Barker followed the same way. The name was given, a kiss was received and a cut made.

His tally up to five. A full set.

But there was another he would give tonight. Victor seemed to know this if the curl in his lips was any indication. Although he said nothing. Instead, Victor simply reclaimed Jim's lips and ground his hips down only reigniting Jim's need. Not moving his one arm, Jim managed to hold the man closer going so far as chasing his lips when Victor finally pulled away.

“You have a third for me, Jim.” Victor pointed out as he sat back up. Jim nodded.

“Mario Calvi.” Jim finally gave. A part of him expected repercussions because this was Don Falcone's son. And Victor was loyal to Don Falcone even while working for Oswald Cobblepot. Perhaps he should have picked another name, anyone from his own list he's earned since becoming a detective here in Gotham. But in a sense, he was too drunk off of pleasure and the need for more of only what Victor seemed to be able to give him.

And for a moment, nothing happened and Jim almost found himself fearing the worse. It wouldn't be much to imagine that blade going across his throat. But it didn't. Instead, Jim found his mouth once more claimed. This time rather than as a reward, it was aggressive and full of teeth. Hands on either side of his face held him still. It was only when they were out of breath did Victor move away long enough to take up the box cutter again and by some miracle hold it with a steady hand as his final tally for tonight was given. The moment the blade was pulled away from his arm it was discarded to the side.

The tally marks stung even more as Jim felt Victor lick a straight line from one end of them to the other before claiming Jim's mouth once more. This time accompanied with the taste of blood. And how fitting was that for them?

The need for release took over then as they pushed and pulled against each other. Never quite close enough as Jim found himself giving himself fully over to Victor to take them through this night.

Whatever happened tomorrow and in the future, that was a problem for another time.


End file.
